The hole in the wall
by totalphangirl
Summary: Johanna is all too aware of the hole in the wall. She doesn't wonder for it's purpose, she merely sits, acutely aware of his gaze, his heavy breath, his clumsy feet and that beady eye that glistens like steel. One-shot, non-sexual (but a bit suggestive)


**I dunno, T for sex references I guess (nothing that bad, just Turpin being weird.)**

Johanna had produced many a futile achievement in her fifteen years of captivity. For one, she knew exactly how many stripes there were on the length of her wallpaper. That she had checked since she was around five years old. Her room acquired little apart from her bed, herself and her wardrobe; her dolls had been taken from her mysteriously and gradually taken from her through the years, but she had taken the news light-heartedly, concluding that perhaps they had been passed on the less fortunate children.

Johanna had always taken bad news light-heartedly. Unlike both of her parents the misfortunes she had suffered never tarnished her soul or nature, and she could be easily entertained without the need for dolls or toys. Beneath her bed lay a small tub of coins that she had inherited over the years, and each day she would pile them up individually, from dirtiest to cleanest, (God forbid if she got it in the wrong order,) until six small towers of coins stood in order on her desk, only to be demolished and stashed away again.

Another trait she had borne out of loneliness and boredom was excellent observational skills. Through the pane of her window Johanna could deduce the life of each human being who laced the streets, from the way a ballerina would walk with her legs sticking out to the way a cornet-player would drum his three dominant fingers on the side of the bench. Each thread from life's rich tapestry had passed by her window and contributed to her ever-present and vaguely irritating inner-monologue.

For a girl of her years and upbringing, Johanna was surprising sickly, with pale skin Victorian men were to find 'enticing,' and a slice of ankle and wrist on each arm and leg. Still, she hardly compared herself to the rosy, stocky-built girls who passed her home with much jealousy, for beauty was not a quality Johanna found herself particularly lucky for having.

Her beauty, Johanna was sure, had somehow conceived a reason for the hole in her wall to be there. She already knew for its purpose, unfortunately, but tried to ignore it. Suddenly there was a brisk shuffle on the other side of the wall, the rustling of clothes, and Johanna let a heavy sigh depart her lips. By God, she wasn't even _doing_ anything! How could her own still image be enough to trigger an obnoxious pleasure within him? Tossing the question aside in her head she continued to gaze out of her window as nonchalantly as she could, acutely aware of the Judge's silver eye occupying the hole. Turpin was none the wiser. He raked his eyes over her curvaceous form, his breath suddenly ragged. She was so perfect, taunt legs, wide eyes… fawn-like. Reams of golden silk hung over her shoulders in an elegant wave, landing as soft as a butterfly's wing against her unmarred skin. There was a sort of unblemished perfection to her face, an elegance that only very young girls seem to acquire, that all her features were capable of snatching the glance of anyone who saw her and holding it there so they could drink in her appeal. Her eyes were big and enticing, chocolate-brown, kindling sparks bright and alluring. Her lips, full and childish, healthy in the glow of her pale skin were a rosy-pink, petite, shrouded with the graceful curve of her cheek, the sweep of her chin and the light grooves of her dimples.

She walked with an air of refinement and grace, for everything she wore embraced her figure into a crafting of smooth curves and elegant arcs. Her hands were small and dainty like a porcelain doll, often folded together but always poised in a way that aided her appearance. A string of pearls hung from her neck, landing against her collarbone and resting there. Here skin there was impossibly smooth, powdered, and as she walked her gowns seemed to waft with her, caressing the arch of her legs. In every way her delicate appearance resembled a flower; unblemished, fragrant, beautiful.

Pulling himself away rather abruptly he realized his hands were wet, and rubbed them against the thigh of his pants before leaning forwards to gander at her again.

Shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze, Johanna turned fully away from him, tensing her muscles, clenching her teeth, trying to make herself look unappealing by any degree. She was all too aware of his heavy breath, his clumsy feet and that beady eye that glistened like steel.

After a laborious ten minutes there was a sniff and a quick patter of feet. Johanna let out a relieved sigh, unfathomably happy of his departure, the air around her flowing freely again.


End file.
